Two Weeks
by joanalexflo
Summary: This picks up at the end of Season 8, Cas has fallen and is lost, trying to find Sam and Dean. . .rated K for now, of course, this is only the first chapter, so that may change. NOT AU. Definitely a Destiel fic, but the characters' personalities will NOT change. No fluff. Sorry to disappoint. Hopefully lots of tears (because that would make sense in this show.) PLEASE REVIEW


It had been two weeks.

Two weeks since the last time Dean had seen Castiel.

Two weeks since he had raced back to the bat cave with his dying brother shivering in the backseat.

Two weeks since a meteor shower of angels had fallen from the sky.

Two weeks.

And to say that Dean was "freaking the fuck out" was a massive understatement.

Sam was recovering. Actually, Sam was recovering surprisingly fast for the shape he had been in. Which, unfortunately for Dean, meant less time taking care of his brother, and more time worrying about Cas and what the angels falling would mean for them, for humanity; not to mention the fact that they had not yet closed Hell.

"Dean?" Sam asked hesitantly, glancing up at him from behind a book. Dean's brow was furrowed in frustration as he noisily flipped through some ancient manuscript that he clearly wasn't reading. Dean glared up at Sam, causing him to draw back and shift awkwardly in his seat until Dean looked back down. "Maybe you should take a break? Look, I know the whole angel falling thing is really bothering you and I'm worried about Cas too . . ." Sam began, but Dean quickly cut him off.

"It's been two weeks, Sam." Dean interrupted darkly, "Two goddam weeks." He sighed and added more quietly, "If he was still alive, he would have called us by now." Dean stared back down at the text on which he wasn't even trying to pretend to focus anymore, and let out another long sigh, tears filling his eyes. "I've got to get out of here, Sam. I've got to at least try to find him." Sam could see the stress Dean felt. It was plastered all over his face. Sam wondered then when the last time Dean actually slept was; when the last time Dean was sober. He nodded, his own eyes watering at the sight of his brother, and quickly diverted his eyes to the book he was studying.

Dean pulled on his jacket and grabbed the keys to the Impala, but stopped before he could walk out the door when his phone began ringing. He ripped it out of his pocket, and read the caller-ID. It was no number he recognized, but he answered it anyway. "Hello?" He asked warily.

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It was strange—falling. It was much like flying, but without all the control. Mostly, he went in and out of consciousness as he plummeted toward the earth. When Castiel opened his eyes, it was night and trees surrounded him. In some forest, he had no idea where. He looked up toward the heavens. All around him, he could see bright orange lights falling from the sky. He didn't have to ask what it was. He knew it was his brothers and sisters falling from Heaven. He knew it was his fault. Tears streaked his face at the sight of them. He wondered how many would survive the fall, how many would survive being human. He had ruined his home. Again. Wings burned off of his falling siblings and it was only just then that he noticed the slight burning feeling between his shoulder blades. He knew it was his wings—he knew that they were gone.

He wandered around the area, looking for a break in the trees, looking for any signs of civilization. He found no one. After several days, he noticed his trench coat was no longer the same light shade of tan it had been. Now, it was splotchy with large dark marks and mud at the bottom. He tried not to focus on it, knowing that he no longer had the power to just clean himself up instantly. At first, Castiel didn't sleep. He wandered through the woods, looking for someone—anyone—to help him find his way back to Sam and Dean. Dean. That was a painful memory. He felt incredibly guilty at just the thought of his name. He was suddenly uncertain if he wanted to find them again, or just die out here in the woods. However, he continued, not really sure what was driving him anymore. The only time Castiel slept was when his body couldn't take it anymore and he fell to the ground, unable to go on. He did not eat, nor did he drink for over a week. He could feel his body changing, growing thinner. He could feel pain in his stomach, in his legs, his arms. His throat felt dry like sandpaper, and when he attempted to swallow, there was nothing there to wash away the feeling. His entire being protested walking, but he kept trying for as long as he physically could.

He was certain that he would die here, wherever here was, looking for anything that could lead him back to the Winchesters. He could feel his body falling apart beneath him as he collapsed for the final time, taking in small, shallow breaths, tasting the earth with every inhale, its coolness caressing his cheek. His final thoughts went back to the Winchesters. He realized then, in those final moments, why he kept trying to find his way back to them. They were his family. Despite the disappointment, they were all he had now—all he ever had, really. And he needed them. He wondered if they were searching for him too. Then darkness overtook him, and he fell asleep-unaware that he had stumbled at the edge of the tree line that opened out into a small park.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Hello?" Dean asked again, preparing to hang up the phone.

"Hello, Dean." The gruff angel voice paralyzed him. His breath caught and he could feel Sam's staring eyes trying to rip through his skull and read his thoughts. It was a moment before Dean could reply. It took Cas repeating his name over the phone and Sam's concerned questioning before Dean could pull himself back to reality.

"Cas." Dean practically whispered, still unable to get his voice to work correctly.

"Is he ok?" Dean could hear Sam asking. He was only across the room, but it seemed more like he was miles away.

"Dean." Cas replied in his usual stoic voice, but there was a hint of relief behind it.

"We thought you were dead. Where are you? What the Hell happened? Are you alright?" Dean's questions came out in a rush—a combination of concern and anger all mixed into one.

"I'm. . ." The ex-angel paused, "I'm at a hospital." Dean felt a sense of déjà vu at Cas' reply. "I'm alive. . .but. . .I'm. . .I'm not. . ." Cas didn't have to finish for Dean to understand. Hell, he had seen the angels fall. It was wishful thinking, for him to hope that the same hadn't happened to Cas. Dean closed his eyes, trying to hold back all of the fear that was about to make his head explode.

"It's ok, Cas." Dean said calmly, "Where are you? I'll come get you." It came out way more kind than Dean was used to. Sam was surprised with how well Dean was handling this, half expecting him to yell at Cas over the phone after how worried Dean had been. In his peripheral vision, Dean could see the confused look Sam was throwing at him, but he ignored it.


End file.
